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I'd like to start by extending my humble apologies to my dear Shattered Mug, I do hope you have retired from your corner; confined spaces have such a horrible upshots on the circulatory system ;) If not, hopefully this chapter will give you reason. After reading SJ's review I was seriously considering re-writing chapter 7 and making it the last *evil grin* I do intend to meet the requirements of the selected category, but perhaps a little later on hmm? The game isn't over yet, my friends.
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'At the End of the Game'
Part Eight: Fold
...black swirls morphing into a haze of gold, and then the flashing of an overpowering yellow light. Clarice Starling's eyes opened widely as she sat abruptly upright in the bed. Pure relief was released in an audible sigh as her eyes adjusted to the early morning glare which rushed in through the old sky light above her. In frantic distress she writhed free from a self-tangle of white sheet and ivory silk to expose the soft skin of her stomach. Her hand gently examined the area to reassure herself of the complete absence of a bloody wound. Another sigh.
After her brief panic lapse, memories began to run their returning course. The candle had burnt out overnight, a waxy pool the only evidence of it's existence, the water jug, still full of it's nasty content and the white eiderdown pillow which sat abandoned a few feet from the bed.
Last night she had spent a good hour debating whether or not to sleep in the bed he had turned down for her. She hated to accept anything that he offered her, to sleep in the bed would be worse than wearing the body lotion, it would highlight a feminine weakness, draw attention to the qualities that she had spent her life ignoring, hiding. She had decided that dragging a pillow onto the floor to sleep on would be sufficient.
That was her immovable state of mind for a prolonged five minutes, that is, until her neck and back protested that pride and dignity alone were not enough manipulate her body to sleep. After stubbornly sulking for a minute, Clarice was asleep in the bed, and was now pleased with her choice, her body had fully recovered. The same, however, could not be said for her state of mentality. The dream had felt exceptionally real, and on waking up, left Clarice feeling hollow and abandoned.
Overnight, her whole attitude towards him had changed. She had indeed assumed a lot about his capabilities and extent of menace. Ignorance was foul on her tongue; in his presence her lack of fear had been genuine due to the fact that she honestly believed that he would not viciously harm her like he had done to so many others.
Blatant truth is a bitch. There is no other, more dignified, sentence to best describe her sudden realisation, she didn't *know* Hannibal Lecter and she never had. He was an elegant, walking, talking explosive; likely to blow up in her face at any given time.
Well, that's what she so believed now.
For the second time in ten years, Clarice was truly panicky over Hannibal Lecter. The first experience had been just after his escape in Memphis. Mapp had talked her into a state of complete paranoia, believing that she was next on his list after Chilton. And now, even after his proposed reassurance, she was edgy just thinking about him, about what he might do.
Her pale hands unconsciously shook at her side as she rose from the bed, a site she would surely scrutinise had she been able to observe herself.
Solemness was a regularity in her life. Often people mistake her loneliness as a choice, but in truth, it was a curse. She had no one to depend on, she didn't need company, but that's not to say she didn't want it. She'd just never admit that she needed anything from anyone.
As she grasped the porcelain handle, she began to put things into perspective. Starling's were not quitters, even at risking her life and sanity, Clarice would not turn down her duty. She would fight the one person who is able to fill the empty cavity in her life, the monster whom has killed more people than she has ever socialised with... the man that may ultimately kill her too.
As she opened the door, she quickly scanned her surroundings. In the room across from her, a quilt lying over the bed looked ruffled, it had been used. To her right was a narrow hallway which lead to what looked to be a linen press. Diagonally to her left was a smaller room, an office, occupied by a mahogany desk and bookshelf. From her distance she could make out a few of the larger print titles; "Gourmet Cuisine Special Edition", "Psychiatry- The Minds Eye" and... "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus!!"
She chucked to herself, easing her nerves as she pictured Dr. Lecter reclined on his master chair engrossed in a chapter of frivolous self-help.
Slowly she made her way down the stairs
A wave of deja vu crashed over her. Shakily inhaling, she continued down the stairs on light feet. At the second last step, lost to thoughts of her dream, Clarice tripped on her feet and lunged forward...Instead of cold wood, her face and hands crashed into a firm warm chest.
Her eyes shut briefly as her mind began to shut down at the intense contact. Intimacy with Hannibal Lecter corrodes all thought.
His chest lightly vibrated under her cheek as a soft chuckle violated an earnest silence.
" Watch your step. I would think your body has endured enough torment this over this past week, Clarice." His jaw rested on her hair, his warm breath setting off stray auburn locks into a flurry of movement.
She thought.
"Breakfast awaits our arrival". There it was again, the honeymooners tone.
She shivered as he moved her body in front of his and guided her, by the small of her back, into a dining room. The shiver was a product of fear, wasn't it? What else could it be, moments ago she had convinced herself that this mans intentions ran no deeper than regulating harpy exercises.
It would seem that Clarice Starling was more afraid of Hannibal Lecter when she was alone, than when she was in the perpetrator's company.
As they entered the large room, connected to the kitchen via a panelled door, Clarice half expected too see Paul Krendler propped up at the wrought iron table, brain fully exposed, excluding the pre-frontal lobe.
Instead, she was confronted with a considerably domestic, rational setting. Two places were set on the table, both of which included a steaming black coffee, and a yellow blob, assumed to be omelette.
Without resistance, Clarice sat in the chair he offered and waited for him take his opposing placing. In his own time he did, he sat and watched his fragile little butterfly search for words, for her infamous courage. He had been so close before; she had shed her tear of disgrace as he held her against the fridge, the tear that confirmed what both only dared to presume. But now, he would have to start again, tear down the re-erected walls and leave her naked, defenceless, she needed to see herself there.
" There was little food in the pantry still within its used-by-date. I'm afraid this will have to suffice for now, Clarice" He pointed his fork towards the omelette on her plate.
She really wasn't concerned with the foods state of health; in fact she wasn't hungry at all. Her nostrils flared as she the imaginary salty aroma of Sauté La Krendler wafted through the room. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she wondered where he was right now; she was appalled to find herself hoping that he still sat ridiculously slumped over in the wheelchair, with a towel thrown lazily over his exposed grey matter.
"Let me assure you, he'd be quite dead by now. Though his miserable life could have been salvaged had you not been so eager to call the authorities" Her head shot up to meet a pair of maroon flashlights.
?
He was accusing her of ultimately killing Krendler, slaughtering another lamb by not being there to protect it. He may have been the rudest, most arrogant and tasteless lamb to exist, but her morals still reigned to save, even his, life.
"Don't you even think about laying the blame on me. It was hardly my idea to dine-in with you last night." She snarled as she felt sudden heat of anger rise from within her.
" Oh, so cold, Clarice. Try not to get upset; I only want us to be able to participate in civil discussion" His voice was soft, almost subservient, as he lifted the steaming cup to his lips, but paused before he took a sip
" ...Besides, it's been a good ten years over due" He winked in her direction.
That sent a slight tingle over the sensitive surfaces of her body.
" So you brought me here, to the middle of nowhere, with intentions of enticing civil chatter? For what? Your entertainment?" Her tone was low, yet without the menace she had intended to use.
Small wrinkles formed at the sides of his mouth as he smiled at the pleasure of hearing her accented voice. He used to consider such a 'twang' to be a great stigma on her good name, but now, he'd grown to love it, and he loved it even more knowing that she tried to hide it from him.
" No, Clarice, not for my entertainment. I would have stayed in Florence had I desired such leisure. It's much, much, more than that."
She felt his trouser leg brush against her silky pyjama bottoms as he crossed one leg over the other.
"Tell me about work, Clarice. How does the daily slog make you feel? Does it suffocate you, constrict you?"
She looked away from him, eyes adverting to her small hands. Work was the last thing she wished to discuss, if indeed to she wished to discuss anything at all.
"No, Dr. Lecter. Works fine. I'm fine" her reply was barely audible. She felt the temperament of the room swiftly change.
One hand slammed hard into the metal table with a loud 'thump'. She jumped in surprise as his eyes turned into molten fireballs.
" You will not lie to me here!" A piercing yell made sound waves jump to attention. " ...Not here Clarice, not ever. This is a time outside of the normal. Do you understand?"
She nodded compliantly and bravely eyed him, pushing aside the excited desire she felt from his sudden powerful outburst.
"It's not going as well as I had planed it to." She expelled a delayed honest truth. His eyes cooled down again and his face seemed to drop. She felt anxious, like she was about to experience a panic attack.
" And it never will. Your living daddy's dream Clarice, and it torments you, covers your eyes and blinds your own desires. A mirror will show you your incorruptibility, my dear, I've already told you that, but it will also show you what you've wasted."
His words rung loudly in her ears. He knew he could hurt her worse this way. He didn't want to, but it had to happen; someone had to show her.
She had known her job was a dead end and that her life was wasting away as the years went by, but she knew no better. Without her job, her father's wishes, there was nothing. Somehow, he always made it sound much worse than she had imaged. She now realised that the truths that Hannibal Lecter speaks are the lies she constructs for herself to please her shield of principles.
" Your life is circling the drain. Everything that you uphold has ultimately brought you down. Can you see that Clarice? I'm sure your father would. These pieces that hold you together, they have walked you to nothing. Certainly not to the advancement that I recall a certain ambitious agent converting a decade ago."
His string of bittersweet words continued to caress and attack her ears, but her eyes never left his, she couldn't advert them, even if she had tried.
She needed to change the direction of this conversation, if they kept going down that path and she found her gun, it wouldn't be his head that she'd want to blow off.
" Quid pro quo, Doctor." He raised a quizzical eyebrow as she pushed out of her chair and retreated to rest her back on the wall for support. He thought she may have been looking for an exit, and grew tense, until she began to speak
" What do you see when you look in the mirror" Her voice was shaking, as if she were on the verge on tears.
That surprised him. She had the uncanny power to put him off balance, she was a rare creature indeed; he could never quite predict what was going on inside her beautiful little head.
" What makes Agent Starling want to analyse the monster now hmm? There aren't any lambs to be saved. Katherine is resting safely in her bed..."
He sounded almost defensive. She pressed on.
" Do I need a reason?"
At that, a fortress seemed to drop from a place around his heart.
" A personal inquiry then? Hmm Clarice Starling is opening herself up to the feared cannibal, Hannibal Lecter"
His statement reminded her of a newspaper headline she'd read a few months ago. They never ceased to leave them alone. She almost pitied their misguided amusement.
" Well I wouldn't call it *opening myself up*" Her confidence was beginning to return, as she seemingly began to forget who he was, what he'd done. At this time, that didn't seem to matter.
She was startled when he rose from his chair, just as she had a few minutes ago. He then approached her, one hand in his pocket, the other at his chin.
" What *would* you call it then?" She hadn't been prepared for that. She blinked without response.
" Something holds you back, Clarice. What is it, fear? Anticipation?" He took another step closer. It was now impossible for her to move away.
" You tell me" Her head hit the wall as she desperately tried to minimise contact.
He smiled as he wondered whether or not she would be ready for what he had to say.
" You've never been afraid of me Clarice, and I admire that to no extent. You want to be scared though. It wouldn't surprise me if you've tried to talk yourself into it on occasion. Your greatest fear is of yourself."
His hand moved to trace her the injury at her shoulder through the silk. He knew its exact placing. She shuddered at the contact. He left his hand there as he continued.
" You shudder at what you hope is disgust, but its not. Your so afraid of what you might do, what you might become if you break free from your self-prison, Clarice. But your strong, and you try to fight yourself. You're a warrior, a hunter, awaiting the next kill, the slaughter of injustice."
His hand move down her arm, enjoying the softness her sleeve provided against his fingertips, and stoped as he took her fingers and laced them with his own. She didn't move away from him, he saw no reason to stop.
" We're so much alike, Clarice, so alike yet completely different."
They could hear each others heartbeats racing in the silence. Matched rhythms.
"To answer your question, what I see when I look in the mirror... I see you"
His image was a blur in front of a sheet of tears that covered her eyes. She looked away from the intensity of their gaze and sharply inhaled. Her bottom lip trembled as a bi-product of her quiet breakdown. Special Agent Starling had been shot down, left was Clarice, the little girl too frightened to move.
His forceful hand grabbed the soft skin at her jaw and moved her to face his.
" Clarice" Her name, her calling, her downfall.
"Clarice" A beckoning. His mouth hovered dangerously close to hers. Not many had been that close to his mouth, and if they had, they weren't around to tell the story.
Her stomach was rolling over in fits of excitement. She could taste the acid, which had risen from her stomach, to the back of her throat.
She was hit with a sensation of dizziness before she did the unthinkable, something neither of them had expected. They both froze over with shock...
I'd like to start by extending my humble apologies to my dear Shattered Mug, I do hope you have retired from your corner; confined spaces have such a horrible upshots on the circulatory system ;) If not, hopefully this chapter will give you reason. After reading SJ's review I was seriously considering re-writing chapter 7 and making it the last *evil grin* I do intend to meet the requirements of the selected category, but perhaps a little later on hmm? The game isn't over yet, my friends.
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'At the End of the Game'
Part Eight: Fold
...black swirls morphing into a haze of gold, and then the flashing of an overpowering yellow light. Clarice Starling's eyes opened widely as she sat abruptly upright in the bed. Pure relief was released in an audible sigh as her eyes adjusted to the early morning glare which rushed in through the old sky light above her. In frantic distress she writhed free from a self-tangle of white sheet and ivory silk to expose the soft skin of her stomach. Her hand gently examined the area to reassure herself of the complete absence of a bloody wound. Another sigh.
After her brief panic lapse, memories began to run their returning course. The candle had burnt out overnight, a waxy pool the only evidence of it's existence, the water jug, still full of it's nasty content and the white eiderdown pillow which sat abandoned a few feet from the bed.
Last night she had spent a good hour debating whether or not to sleep in the bed he had turned down for her. She hated to accept anything that he offered her, to sleep in the bed would be worse than wearing the body lotion, it would highlight a feminine weakness, draw attention to the qualities that she had spent her life ignoring, hiding. She had decided that dragging a pillow onto the floor to sleep on would be sufficient.
That was her immovable state of mind for a prolonged five minutes, that is, until her neck and back protested that pride and dignity alone were not enough manipulate her body to sleep. After stubbornly sulking for a minute, Clarice was asleep in the bed, and was now pleased with her choice, her body had fully recovered. The same, however, could not be said for her state of mentality. The dream had felt exceptionally real, and on waking up, left Clarice feeling hollow and abandoned.
Overnight, her whole attitude towards him had changed. She had indeed assumed a lot about his capabilities and extent of menace. Ignorance was foul on her tongue; in his presence her lack of fear had been genuine due to the fact that she honestly believed that he would not viciously harm her like he had done to so many others.
Blatant truth is a bitch. There is no other, more dignified, sentence to best describe her sudden realisation, she didn't *know* Hannibal Lecter and she never had. He was an elegant, walking, talking explosive; likely to blow up in her face at any given time.
Well, that's what she so believed now.
For the second time in ten years, Clarice was truly panicky over Hannibal Lecter. The first experience had been just after his escape in Memphis. Mapp had talked her into a state of complete paranoia, believing that she was next on his list after Chilton. And now, even after his proposed reassurance, she was edgy just thinking about him, about what he might do.
Her pale hands unconsciously shook at her side as she rose from the bed, a site she would surely scrutinise had she been able to observe herself.
Solemness was a regularity in her life. Often people mistake her loneliness as a choice, but in truth, it was a curse. She had no one to depend on, she didn't need company, but that's not to say she didn't want it. She'd just never admit that she needed anything from anyone.
As she grasped the porcelain handle, she began to put things into perspective. Starling's were not quitters, even at risking her life and sanity, Clarice would not turn down her duty. She would fight the one person who is able to fill the empty cavity in her life, the monster whom has killed more people than she has ever socialised with... the man that may ultimately kill her too.
As she opened the door, she quickly scanned her surroundings. In the room across from her, a quilt lying over the bed looked ruffled, it had been used. To her right was a narrow hallway which lead to what looked to be a linen press. Diagonally to her left was a smaller room, an office, occupied by a mahogany desk and bookshelf. From her distance she could make out a few of the larger print titles; "Gourmet Cuisine Special Edition", "Psychiatry- The Minds Eye" and... "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus!!"
She chucked to herself, easing her nerves as she pictured Dr. Lecter reclined on his master chair engrossed in a chapter of frivolous self-help.
Slowly she made her way down the stairs
A wave of deja vu crashed over her. Shakily inhaling, she continued down the stairs on light feet. At the second last step, lost to thoughts of her dream, Clarice tripped on her feet and lunged forward...Instead of cold wood, her face and hands crashed into a firm warm chest.
Her eyes shut briefly as her mind began to shut down at the intense contact. Intimacy with Hannibal Lecter corrodes all thought.
His chest lightly vibrated under her cheek as a soft chuckle violated an earnest silence.
" Watch your step. I would think your body has endured enough torment this over this past week, Clarice." His jaw rested on her hair, his warm breath setting off stray auburn locks into a flurry of movement.
She thought.
"Breakfast awaits our arrival". There it was again, the honeymooners tone.
She shivered as he moved her body in front of his and guided her, by the small of her back, into a dining room. The shiver was a product of fear, wasn't it? What else could it be, moments ago she had convinced herself that this mans intentions ran no deeper than regulating harpy exercises.
It would seem that Clarice Starling was more afraid of Hannibal Lecter when she was alone, than when she was in the perpetrator's company.
As they entered the large room, connected to the kitchen via a panelled door, Clarice half expected too see Paul Krendler propped up at the wrought iron table, brain fully exposed, excluding the pre-frontal lobe.
Instead, she was confronted with a considerably domestic, rational setting. Two places were set on the table, both of which included a steaming black coffee, and a yellow blob, assumed to be omelette.
Without resistance, Clarice sat in the chair he offered and waited for him take his opposing placing. In his own time he did, he sat and watched his fragile little butterfly search for words, for her infamous courage. He had been so close before; she had shed her tear of disgrace as he held her against the fridge, the tear that confirmed what both only dared to presume. But now, he would have to start again, tear down the re-erected walls and leave her naked, defenceless, she needed to see herself there.
" There was little food in the pantry still within its used-by-date. I'm afraid this will have to suffice for now, Clarice" He pointed his fork towards the omelette on her plate.
She really wasn't concerned with the foods state of health; in fact she wasn't hungry at all. Her nostrils flared as she the imaginary salty aroma of Sauté La Krendler wafted through the room. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she wondered where he was right now; she was appalled to find herself hoping that he still sat ridiculously slumped over in the wheelchair, with a towel thrown lazily over his exposed grey matter.
"Let me assure you, he'd be quite dead by now. Though his miserable life could have been salvaged had you not been so eager to call the authorities" Her head shot up to meet a pair of maroon flashlights.
?
He was accusing her of ultimately killing Krendler, slaughtering another lamb by not being there to protect it. He may have been the rudest, most arrogant and tasteless lamb to exist, but her morals still reigned to save, even his, life.
"Don't you even think about laying the blame on me. It was hardly my idea to dine-in with you last night." She snarled as she felt sudden heat of anger rise from within her.
" Oh, so cold, Clarice. Try not to get upset; I only want us to be able to participate in civil discussion" His voice was soft, almost subservient, as he lifted the steaming cup to his lips, but paused before he took a sip
" ...Besides, it's been a good ten years over due" He winked in her direction.
That sent a slight tingle over the sensitive surfaces of her body.
" So you brought me here, to the middle of nowhere, with intentions of enticing civil chatter? For what? Your entertainment?" Her tone was low, yet without the menace she had intended to use.
Small wrinkles formed at the sides of his mouth as he smiled at the pleasure of hearing her accented voice. He used to consider such a 'twang' to be a great stigma on her good name, but now, he'd grown to love it, and he loved it even more knowing that she tried to hide it from him.
" No, Clarice, not for my entertainment. I would have stayed in Florence had I desired such leisure. It's much, much, more than that."
She felt his trouser leg brush against her silky pyjama bottoms as he crossed one leg over the other.
"Tell me about work, Clarice. How does the daily slog make you feel? Does it suffocate you, constrict you?"
She looked away from him, eyes adverting to her small hands. Work was the last thing she wished to discuss, if indeed to she wished to discuss anything at all.
"No, Dr. Lecter. Works fine. I'm fine" her reply was barely audible. She felt the temperament of the room swiftly change.
One hand slammed hard into the metal table with a loud 'thump'. She jumped in surprise as his eyes turned into molten fireballs.
" You will not lie to me here!" A piercing yell made sound waves jump to attention. " ...Not here Clarice, not ever. This is a time outside of the normal. Do you understand?"
She nodded compliantly and bravely eyed him, pushing aside the excited desire she felt from his sudden powerful outburst.
"It's not going as well as I had planed it to." She expelled a delayed honest truth. His eyes cooled down again and his face seemed to drop. She felt anxious, like she was about to experience a panic attack.
" And it never will. Your living daddy's dream Clarice, and it torments you, covers your eyes and blinds your own desires. A mirror will show you your incorruptibility, my dear, I've already told you that, but it will also show you what you've wasted."
His words rung loudly in her ears. He knew he could hurt her worse this way. He didn't want to, but it had to happen; someone had to show her.
She had known her job was a dead end and that her life was wasting away as the years went by, but she knew no better. Without her job, her father's wishes, there was nothing. Somehow, he always made it sound much worse than she had imaged. She now realised that the truths that Hannibal Lecter speaks are the lies she constructs for herself to please her shield of principles.
" Your life is circling the drain. Everything that you uphold has ultimately brought you down. Can you see that Clarice? I'm sure your father would. These pieces that hold you together, they have walked you to nothing. Certainly not to the advancement that I recall a certain ambitious agent converting a decade ago."
His string of bittersweet words continued to caress and attack her ears, but her eyes never left his, she couldn't advert them, even if she had tried.
She needed to change the direction of this conversation, if they kept going down that path and she found her gun, it wouldn't be his head that she'd want to blow off.
" Quid pro quo, Doctor." He raised a quizzical eyebrow as she pushed out of her chair and retreated to rest her back on the wall for support. He thought she may have been looking for an exit, and grew tense, until she began to speak
" What do you see when you look in the mirror" Her voice was shaking, as if she were on the verge on tears.
That surprised him. She had the uncanny power to put him off balance, she was a rare creature indeed; he could never quite predict what was going on inside her beautiful little head.
" What makes Agent Starling want to analyse the monster now hmm? There aren't any lambs to be saved. Katherine is resting safely in her bed..."
He sounded almost defensive. She pressed on.
" Do I need a reason?"
At that, a fortress seemed to drop from a place around his heart.
" A personal inquiry then? Hmm Clarice Starling is opening herself up to the feared cannibal, Hannibal Lecter"
His statement reminded her of a newspaper headline she'd read a few months ago. They never ceased to leave them alone. She almost pitied their misguided amusement.
" Well I wouldn't call it *opening myself up*" Her confidence was beginning to return, as she seemingly began to forget who he was, what he'd done. At this time, that didn't seem to matter.
She was startled when he rose from his chair, just as she had a few minutes ago. He then approached her, one hand in his pocket, the other at his chin.
" What *would* you call it then?" She hadn't been prepared for that. She blinked without response.
" Something holds you back, Clarice. What is it, fear? Anticipation?" He took another step closer. It was now impossible for her to move away.
" You tell me" Her head hit the wall as she desperately tried to minimise contact.
He smiled as he wondered whether or not she would be ready for what he had to say.
" You've never been afraid of me Clarice, and I admire that to no extent. You want to be scared though. It wouldn't surprise me if you've tried to talk yourself into it on occasion. Your greatest fear is of yourself."
His hand moved to trace her the injury at her shoulder through the silk. He knew its exact placing. She shuddered at the contact. He left his hand there as he continued.
" You shudder at what you hope is disgust, but its not. Your so afraid of what you might do, what you might become if you break free from your self-prison, Clarice. But your strong, and you try to fight yourself. You're a warrior, a hunter, awaiting the next kill, the slaughter of injustice."
His hand move down her arm, enjoying the softness her sleeve provided against his fingertips, and stoped as he took her fingers and laced them with his own. She didn't move away from him, he saw no reason to stop.
" We're so much alike, Clarice, so alike yet completely different."
They could hear each others heartbeats racing in the silence. Matched rhythms.
"To answer your question, what I see when I look in the mirror... I see you"
His image was a blur in front of a sheet of tears that covered her eyes. She looked away from the intensity of their gaze and sharply inhaled. Her bottom lip trembled as a bi-product of her quiet breakdown. Special Agent Starling had been shot down, left was Clarice, the little girl too frightened to move.
His forceful hand grabbed the soft skin at her jaw and moved her to face his.
" Clarice" Her name, her calling, her downfall.
"Clarice" A beckoning. His mouth hovered dangerously close to hers. Not many had been that close to his mouth, and if they had, they weren't around to tell the story.
Her stomach was rolling over in fits of excitement. She could taste the acid, which had risen from her stomach, to the back of her throat.
She was hit with a sensation of dizziness before she did the unthinkable, something neither of them had expected. They both froze over with shock...